


Make Yourself Welcom a.k.a. Mi Castle es Su Casa

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-03
Updated: 2003-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 05:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/352245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark is alone at the mansion.  His brain goes for the booze.  His hands go for his pants.<br/>Written for Signe's Clex Hexed Sex Challenge<br/>Required phrase: "Good things come in small packages</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Yourself Welcom a.k.a. Mi Castle es Su Casa

## Make Yourself Welcom a.k.a. Mi Castle es Su Casa

by spyhop

<http://www.livejournal.com/users/spyhop>

* * *

Clark had arrived at the castle at 8:30 p.m. on Friday. 

Lex wasn't home but earlier had told him to always make himself welcome. So here he was with run of the house. Master of the Castle. An empty, slightly drafty castle but full of diversion nonetheless. There was a pool table. There was a kitchen with a walk-in refrigerator and enough food to withstand a years long seige. There were books. There were DVDs. There were games. 

There was booze. 

The sheer volume of shiny liquid in the manse was incalculable. Displayed in crystal decanters or lined up in their original bottles on several bars. Tonight the alcohol called to Clark. He was graduating high school in three months. He'd been accepted to Metropolis University. His life past the farm was out there. So long to the land checkered with green glowing surprises. Onto a land where the danger wouldn't be so clearly color enhanced. 

Shit. Invulnerable definitely didn't equal fearless. So, he found himself here, at the ancestral home of his best friend, instead of on a trip to Metropolis with his parents. He knew that they had thought a weekend with them looking around the campus, mapping the city with him, would make him more secure about the move. 

Clark knew he could learn the city in minutes. He'd take a couple of super-speed laps and the landmarks would register. He had no fear of locating the nearest supermarket or finding his language lab. He didn't need his parents' familiarity to ease his reservations about living in the city. He sent them off to the city by themselves with a wave and hug. 

He needed Lex. Lex was the city. Lex was the reason Clark wanted to know Metropolis. 

But beyond his congratulations and the casual mention of some great places to eat, Lex hadn't really seemed all that interested in Clark's big move. This was wrong. Clark was sure the nonchalance was feigned; had to believe it. It had to be part of some idiotic but highly thought out plan. A real Lex special with equations, flow charts, regression analysis, reciprocal coefficients and many many graphic manipulations. 

Well, Clark didn't so much mind the graphic manipulations. 

Of course, said manipulations basically involved his hand and fevered fantasies. 

So. Plan. Clark was moving. Lex should move. Why ? Because Clark was eighteen and the looks and the dance they'd been following for years needed a shake-up or a shake-down or just a go-down. 

Innuendo was basically their third musketeer at this point. So far as Clark was concerned it was time to trash the theoretical and embrace the inevitable. 

Clark understood Lex's motivations. He knew Lex had been protecting him. But he also knew Lex had been protecting himself. Clark was perfectly willing to offer up his body but Lex was less sure about proffering his heart. So he waited to turn eighteen. And he was waiting to move out of Smallville. But he at least expected plans, answers to implied promises. Promises he'd heard, promises he thought he'd answered. 

Fuck. Lex had left today. They'd run into each other at the Talon when Clark had been delivering some of his Mom's cookies to Lana. A last minute whim, he had grabbed an armful (and, yeah it was a Clark-sized armful) of stargazer lilies and presented those to her as well. It was just a gesture of pretty to pretty but for a second when Lana had turned those wide eyes, sparkling with surprise and shy delight, he had been transported back to their first time, when he had finally felt a true connection to this fairy princess. 

Of course, this was when Lex had seen him. Stuck in a sentimental memory. He knew it wasn't Lana he wanted but he had had her and it was a good memory. Made even better by the fact that over the past months he had regained her friendship. A damn good thing, because his little sister would've never forgiven him had she lost such a pretty and pink playmate. 

But Lex had seen something else. In fact he'd turned to leave but had been stopped short by Lana's shout of welcome. 

"Lex," she called, her smile sliding into a pleased but businesslike expression as she spun some lie to keep Lex there, to try and rescue Clark as he'd rescued her so many times. 

Clark studied Lex who was pointedly not looking back. Looking to get control, searching for the blankness. Clark tried to act fast. "Hey Lex, dinner tonight ?" Blatant, an invitation said with deliberate casualness, possessive inflection. 

Lex stepped up to the lilies and Lana's side. Answered her question and took a second to stroke the closest flower, dangerously close to Lana's cheek. Clark moved toward him before he could think. Not touching but both knew who had scored. 

"Can't tonight," Lex said, Clark watching the slide of the hand down the stem and then into a slow swipe of Lex's jaw. Lex waited until Clark's eyes had moved from his mouth up to his eyes. "I'm looking at some real estate in New York. I'm on the way to the airport now." 

Clark swallowed, then spoke, "I, uh, wanted to use your T-1 line to register." He didn't really care what he was saying, it was just blathering out. 

"Go, right ahead," Lex replied. "You know where everything is. Everyone's off for the weekend though, you'll have to get your own hot chocolate." Nothing like affection, everything like dismissal. The tone cast Lex as supplier, Clark as taker. 

Lex is gone before Clark can talk around the hurt. Lana glances once at him and, charitably, keeps the sympathy out of her voice as she thanks him again for the flowers. 

Hours ago and neither boy has called the other. 

So, booze. 

Clark did fire up the T-1 line. He downloaded drink recipes, matched pictures to the tools and proceeded to get very very drunk. Super speed and a martini shaker, didn't just cause perfect ice crystals in his cosmopolitan (chosen for the color in the picture) it actually turned it into a bonafide, if crunchy, slushy. Mmmmm. 

Didn't trust himself with the martini glasses (stems too spindly) so he tripled each recipe and drank them straight out of the shaker. Pretty sure he was still seeing straight, but the x-ray was flicking in and out. The bones in his hand and then his knee and thenhishand were pretty damn cool. 

Who needed Lex ? Lettem go to New York. Phhhh. Not like he couldn't run there in an hour or so. But then Lex would ask questions. Why did Lex always have to use his mouth to talk ? Would be mushhhh better if Lex used his mouth to make Clark beg. 

Yeah. Clark levered himself up to the counter, emptied the last of the once full bottle of Cointreau, added a very generous helping of Belvedere (oops three bottles gone), a super-squeeze of lime, some ice, a dash of cranberry for sweet and color and shook. 

The shaker blurred silver as the ice froze every non-alcohol molecule, delivering yet another perfectly pink martini. The ice crunching as he drank it kind of detracted from the James Bond moment but Clark was pretty sure 007 wouldn't be caught dead drinking such a pale frothy concoction. Hee. Clark thought "coc". 

Which of course led to thinking about Lex and then exactly what was going on his pants. Because his cock really liked the idea of thinking about Lex and his pants; it was swollen with pride, tumescent with passion, turgid . . . oh, really had to never open another of Chloe's romances. 

But still and all, highly accurate. 

How'd he get on the floor ? He was standing by the bar, wasn't he ? Apparently not. 

Clark liked being drunk. It was all free and floaty and giggly and oh, if he rolled his head that fast, spinny and why was his head so heavy. He was finding it impossible to stop it from rolling around on the cool marble. 

Finally, it did. Maybe an hour later by his best calculations. He noticed that his hand had somehow gotten itself in his pants and the buttons on his fly were all undone. Way to go hands. 

Taking inventory he decided that he'd be more comfortable on the leather couch. He tried to stand but that wasn't a good idea. Gravity was kicking his ass. The ass that could float. So unfair. 

Anyway crawling wasn't so bad. He made it to the couch and dragged his chest up to the cushions. Buried his face in the scent of leather and feel of the well-worn smoothness. Pushed his pants down to his knees and fingered himself out of his briefs and into the cool air. 

His skin so warm, he played with light touches up and down the shaft. Calluses rubbing rough on the sensitive ridge under the head. Brought one arm up to brace and lift himself off the couch; his rear end in the air level with his forehead pressed against leather. He used just his middle and index fingers on top and his thumb on the underside, stroking up and down so lightly that all the skin became even more sensitized. Cocktease, he giggled. 

But it was so good. He was alone, no chance of interruption, so drunk, an entire night, he could do whatever he wanted, make noise, draw it out, nothing to hide. 

He started moving his fingers and thumb back and forth stroking all sides. He added the rest of the fingers and moved higher on the shaft, squeezing as he looked for tonight's rhythm. His breathing hitched and his braced arm slipped between the cushions and the back of the couch. His fingers touched plastic and he scrabbled to capture the item. He brought it out and clenched around his dick. 

Small bottle. Black, no label. Shook it, something liquid but more. Lex. Lube. Leather. 

Two here and one filling his mind. No decision made, just up on his knees, the better to use both hands to open the container and slip the contents onto his fingers. Rolled it around, warming and melting it. Imagined Lex's fingers that slippery, that smooth, moving around and into him. 

His hands had the idea before his brain stuttered shut on a still of Lex's face as Clark slightly spread his knees. Right hand jacking up and down his shaft while the left ran itself up and down between his butt cheeks. Really you go hands, you're definitely this night's MVP's. He began to rock back and forth on his knees, holding his hand still as he pushed back onto his slick fingers. The fingers slid all the way down the crack and just to behind his balls, the lube erasing friction as his fingers just slid effortlessly up and down the crevice and up and into the sensitive spot between balls and cock. 

Lube was good. He couldn't think in whole sentences just fragments of Lex's face and hearing Lex's voice. Lex's skin would be so smooth. His teeth would be so hard, biting at his neck, lips sliding along his jaw. Tongue merciless in exploring his mouth. 

He kept rocking as his hand found a rhythm, fast and sweet, tight and rough. His other hand still up his butt, the fingers sometimes almost slipping in the hole although he couldn't concentrate enough to make it happen. He was too close. Lex's hands, Lex's eyes, Lex's lips on him, the scar perfectly catching in the slit, teasing out moisture than mouth opening taking Clark in, all the way in. Heaven and perfection. 

Clark's fingers tightened again as he quickened the pace, still seeing Lex's lips, feeling the moans and realizing he was making them, loudly. Finally moving his arm from his butt and placing it on the floor behind him. Just leaning all the way back, wanton, prone like an offering, feeling the pulse and the thrum and the need. Pumping and groaning, sweat like a salve, all over his body, couldn't help it. Was now rocking himself through his hand's tight circle; thrusting up and up and good and right and "God" and "Oh" and strain and move and then he shouted "Lex" and --- 

Damn. Was that the door ? Oh. This was not good. But it was so good. 

Opened his eyes and locked on Lex's face and shivered and stilled and came. Tried to even think of what to do. Gave up and just slumped to the floor. 

Die now but die happy. 

Had the thought that straightening his legs was a great idea. And then so fuzzy, and then oh god I'm in so much trouble and then "hey Lexxxxssssss" and then zzzzzzzzzz. 

Clark wakes the next day. His first thought is that his head has somehow been filled with a thousand small Chloes stomping about in thick pointy-soled boots. Ooof. They're also wearing pointy-tipped gloves and elbow pads. If this is how he feels with his super-metabolism, he guesses he'd be dead if he was less. 

Memory shifts slowly as he takes in his surroundings. Still in Lex's office. But he's covered with a blanket, there's a pillow under his head. There are pretty blue bottles of water near his hand and a bottle of Tylenol stands at attention next to a bottle of Gatorade and oh shit, that small black unlabelled bottle. 

Details now rush in. Oh. My. God. Clark's sparse knowledge of profanity mocks him as he nearly causes himself damage as he turns to get up. 

A master of timing, in walks Lex. 

Clark falls back to the pillow, an irrational belief that he can pretend to be sleeping, a gut-wrenching instinct to hide. He stays very still as he watches Lex's feet walk up to within a yard of his face. 

Lex is barefoot and Clark is suddenly fascinated with toes. He focuses on the nails as he wills the first words never to fall from Lex's lips. Knows he's going to lose. 

"You know," Lex begins, conversationally, maddeningly matter-of-fact, "I've been told sex with me is even better if I'm actually present." 

Clark tries to locate his spine. Fails. 

He wiggles down into the sheet, rolls onto his stomach, pulls his face under the pillow. 

Lex slips to the floor, laying perpendicular to the body under the sheet. He places his head on the pillow completely unworried about smothering the hidden boy. Enjoys the heat left by Clark's body, appreciates the scent left by sleep. 

The voice of all his dreams murmurs, "Don't worry Clark, you know what they say about good things." 

Promises made. 

Clark rolls sideways and moves until his face bumps lightly into Lex's neck. He steadies himself with a tentative hand on Lex's hip. 

Promises answered. 

"Good things come in small packages ?" he answers, slyly, trying to keep some of that intoxicated swagger. 

Lex laughs softly as he traces a hand over Clark upturned face, "Not exactly what I was thinking." He stops speaking to lean forward and rubs his cheek against early morning stubble before leaning in for a kiss. Soft yet insistent. Trying not to scare off Clark's body's remembrance of liquid courage. He needn't have worried. Clark's response is warm and sure. 

"Good things come to those who wait." 


End file.
